Falling Starr
by Sisterhood of the Perverse
Summary: A double homicide at a strip club rapidly spirals into something more. GS romance, with some Lady Heather thrown into the mix.
1. One

_I hate this._

Sara pulled her kit from her Tahoe, closing the hatch behind her. She stood still for a moment, closing her eyes wearily, and tried not to think about the fact that she had been blissfully asleep, something that was a rarity for her of late, when the call for this scene had come in. Her first instinct to Brass' greeting – _"Sidle? We need you on the strip. Homicide."- _had been to hang up, roll over, and pull her covers back over her head. Instead she blearily stared at her clock, willing the hazy red numbers to make some semblance of sense. And when her groggy mind finally interpreted the time as 4:10 in the morning, she'd almost told Brass to fuck off. That in itself was bothering her, albeit mildly; there had been a time when she wouldn't have cared about the time or the call. She had even sacrificed her days off to come in and work on case after case ... Her eyes opened, and her lips tightened into a thin, mirthless smile.

It was sad how things had changed.

She began walking, towards the myriad of LVPD cruisers splayed haphazardly around the small parking lot, their blazing lights a beacon to anyone interested. As she neared the crime scene tape that made a perimeter around the crime scene and the officer that stood guard, she could see a crowd of onlookers holding vigil; vultures waiting for a look at the macabre and the gruesome to fulfill their morbid curiosity. The officer lifted the yellow ribbon as she flashed her identification, and with a muttered thanks she passed beneath. Within the perimeter were more vehicles; the black van of the coroner, Brass' cruiser, and another black SUV very similar to her own. Her heart sank at the sight of the last, because she knew without a doubt who she would be working with tonight. Rounding the corner, she found herself standing before a two story building that seemed incongruous in this industrial section of Vegas.

Bathed in the light of the flashing neon sign above her, she snorted and shook her head. _Tally-Ho, _the large green letters read, and below that in blinking red it stated, S_tylish Nude Entertainment. _"Lucky me," she muttered, shaking her head again.

"Rethinking your line of work?" Brass had materialized beside her, and his gaze followed hers to the sign. Sara grinned.

"Nope."

"Aw, come on. You'd make more than you do now."

"Yes, but I'd be missing the wonderful sense of fulfillment I get from investigating crime scenes in trashy strip clubs."

Brass made a noise of amusement. He gestured with one hand to the open door of the club. "David and Grissom are inside. They're preparing to move the body."

Sara nodded and swallowed. She didn't want to go in there for reasons other than the body, and in an effort to stall she asked, "How bad is it?"

All traces of amusement were gone now from his face. Meeting her eyes, he said soberly, "Dismemberment. Among ... other things."

Something tightened in Sara's chest. _Other things_ could be interpreted many ways, but she fervently hoped it wasn't rape. Rape was always the most difficult for her, and ever since that case with Linley Parker ... Sensing she was under Brass's scrutiny, she schooled her face to an impassionate mask, and nodded. "I'll go check it out," she said.

"Alright. The body is outside, at the back near the dumpster."

She nodded again, and with case in hand climbed the few stairs to the door. Inside she almost staggered as a wealth of scents struck her; smoke, liquor, and other, more intimate things. It was bright, too bright; lights that were never meant to be on past dark had been utilized. Gazing around the somewhat dingy interior, she understood with crystal clarity why establishments such as this went out of their way to keep things dark. This club was small and dumpy, although there was an almost cozy look to it. It had been cleared of its former inhabitants, many of which who were waiting for questioning, and with a last, amused glance around Sara headed for the emergency exit situated in the back wall beside a small stage. Outside again, it took her eyes a moment to adjust before she could make out the crouched forms of Grissom and David, and another form lying in a contorted position in front of them.

They both glanced up as she stepped forward; David flashing a quick smile, Grissom giving her a quick nod. Ignoring the latter, or what effect it had on her pulse, she crouched beside the coroner and asked, "What do we have?"

It was Grissom that answered. "Dancer and amateur porn star named Starr Clain. Didn't show up for her shift the last three mornings. The bouncer found her tonight when he took out the garbage."

Sara studied the corpse intently. _Dismemberment, _Brass had said, and it was true; the vic was missing both hands and feet. Squinting, she leaned closer to examine the face. It was contorted in a grimace of pain, and she supposed, had consequences been different, that the vic could have been attractive. What caught her eye was the amount of dried blood around the mouth. Noticing her attention, David volunteered, "Her teeth have been removed."

Sara arched an eyebrow. "Removed?"

"Forcibly," Grissom supplied, rising to his feet. "Most likely with pliers or a similar tool."

"Ouch." Sara muttered, setting down her kit. Opening it, she removed her camera with which she would begin to process the scene.

"Don't bother." Grissom said, watching her.

"Excuse me?"

"Nick is coming in to process. You're with me."

Irritation and something close to despair were warring for attention within Sara at his statement. "Why?"

He wasn't meeting her gaze; he seldom did anymore. The hand not gripping the camera tightened into a fist. Whatever friendship she and Grissom had had, whatever connections they'd ever established had faded inexorably over the last couple months. She couldn't claim she didn't understand why; it was painfully obvious. And then, three weeks ago, she'd stood outside the interrogation room, watching through the two way glass as Grissom had laid himself bare to the murdering Dr. Lurie:

"_It's sad, isn't it, doc? Guys like us. Couple of middle- aged men who've allowed their work to consume their lives. The only time we ever touch other people is when we're wearing our latex gloves. We wake up one day and realize that for fifty years we haven't really lived at all. But then, all of a sudden ... we get a second chance_. _Somebody young and beautiful shows up. Somebody ... we could care about. She offers us a new life with her ... but we have a big decision to make, right? Because we have to risk everything we've worked for in order to have her. I couldn't do it ..."_

She was still unsure whether Grissom had known she'd been there, but it didn't matter anymore. None of it did. His testimony had only ascertained what she had tried to deny, and so she'd pushed it aside, locked it away, and refused to dwell on it. The thing was, she couldn't do the same to Grissom. Every day she had to face him, to acknowledge him, to realize that he wouldn't vanish the way she feverishly wished he would. And so it was she set about banishing him the only ways she could. She went out of her way to work on cases he had nothing to do with. She never spoke to him unless to answer a direct question, and she never looked at him unless absolutely necessary; to do so only reminded her of what she'd never had, and what she never would. It didn't work, as she knew it wouldn't, but it was the only method she had of coping.

"Because we're going to question the staff." Grissom answered her, and without waiting he strode past and entered the club.

Sara made a noise somewhere between a growl and a sigh; David gave her a sympathetic look. "He's in a mood tonight."

"Trust me, David," she muttered as she returned the camera to her kit, "He's not the only one."

Sara found Grissom with Brass on the upper level of the club. There were several people gathered there, and judging from the lack of clothing on the women, most of them worked there. Sara set her kit down and came to stand beside Brass as he spoke to the assorted bunch.

"These are CSIs Grissom and Sidle. They're going to ask you some questions."

A woman with dark blonde hair, done up in a deliberate attempt at messiness rolled her eyes and lit a cigarette. She puffed out a cloud of smoke, rolling her wrist in an agitated fashion. The bright red shade of lipstick that came off on the butt of the smoke matched the streaks in her hair and the outfit she had on. "Can we speed this up? I got other places ta be today."

For some reason Sara felt as if the woman blamed the two CSIs for holding her up; as if they had walked in for no good reason, instead of to do their own jobs. "We'll start with you first." She said sweetly. "What's your name?"

The woman let out a little "hrmph" noise, gripping the red ended smoke in crimson tipped nails. "Candy Lane." She responded.

Perhaps because he could sense that Sara was refraining from laughing out loud at the name, Grissom smoothly stepped in. "I'm guessing that's your stage name?"

With an angry snort she leered at them both. "No, my parents are crack heads. Of course it's my stage name. "

Brass, watching idly from the sidelines, spoke up. "Little less lip, little more cooperation. In case you haven't forgotten, we're investigating a murder here. It's in your _best interest_," he stressed the words, "to go along with what we ask you."

She rolled her hazel eyes. "Who cares about that crazy broad anyway? Less people like her the better for the rest of us. Stupid little bitch. Comes in here in an uproar. Who would do something like that? I mean, I know this place isn't what it used ta be, and it sure as hell ain't what it can be, but still, I'm trying to work here."

"So you didn't like the victim?" Brass, ever astute, asked casually.

"Didn't even know 'er till last night. Never saw her before. She comes in bitching that her man is here all the time." She smiled showing off surprisingly white teeth for a smoker. "Of course, that's nothing new. Most of the regulars come just to see me. Not my fault I have a better body, face, and, well ... better _everything_ than she did."

She then turned her cheek and pointed to a bruise, just visible behind her makeup. "She swung at me, started a fight RIGHT in the middle of the stage. I didn't even have a top on."

Brass muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Go figure." Swallowing her grin, Sara picked up the thread where he had left off. "Did she find her man?"

"No." Candy replied. "Vex tossed her out and said he was going ta call the cops if she showed back up here." With another roll of her eyes she looked at her watch. "That's all I can tell ya, she tore this place up, all because she couldn't keep tabs on her dick. Pathetic if you ask me."

"More like unfortunate," Grissom said coolly, "Because now she's dead." Not waiting for her response, he looked past her at the other staff gathered. "Who found the body?"

A deep voice responded from the corner. "That'd be me, sir." The owner of the voice walked up to stand in front of Grissom. He was very tall, broad shouldered and dark skinned. He gave them both an apologetic smile, offering his big hand forward.

Candy sighed. "I'm out of here now." She turned to Brass, "unless that isn't okay with you."

Brass smiled, and it wasn't pleasant. "You're free to go. We'll be in touch."

The stripper scowled, dropped the remains of her cigarette, and ground it purposefully under the heel of her crimson stilettos. With a parting glower in Sara and Grissom's direction, she took her leave with a confident, aggressive strut that no doubt was helpful in her line of work.

"And your name is?" Grissom asked of the big man, having already shook hands.

"Lamont Treal, sir, the girls here call me Vex." He responded calmly. Unlike Candy he didn't have an air of constant agitation and impending mental breakdown. "I'm sorry 'bout Candy; she can be nice if she's the center of attention." He added with a grin.

Sara bit down on a rather rude comment, and decided to let Grissom handle this one. Her supervisor merely nodded before asking, "You said in your initial statement that you were taking out the garbage. What time was this?"

He shrugged. "Between eight and nine." After a slight pause he added, "There aren't any clocks in here, boss says its bad for business, so it's not easy to pinpoint."

Grissom cast a glance about, as if to refute what had just been said. Finding it was the truth, he asked, "And when you found the body, did you see anybody or anything out of place? Did you hear or smell anything other than the ordinary?"

He gave Grissom a smile. "To be honest, all these places smell funny, man. And other then Starr being dead and laying strangely by the dumpster no, hell, you'll probably see the trash right at the door where I dropped it before I ran back in here."

"Did you know the deceased?" Sara asked suddenly, on a intuitive whim. "I mean - other than work?"

"I saw her around, but I didn't know her. She's been causing a fit around town for the past few days." Responded Vex, suddenly a bit less at ease.

Seeing the change in demeanor, Grissom pounced. "Around meaning ... where? And causing a fit about what? Her boyfriend?"

"Around meaning around the clubs. The guy she was screaming about was Hector," came the short response.

"And did you know this ... Hector?"

"No."

Grissom gave him a long, measuring look. Sara had seen hardened criminals squirm beneath that gaze. When again he spoke, his words were slow and crisply enunciated. "Do you know where we could locate Hector?"

"No" Vex almost shifted his feet, but stopped before he looked more nervous. "No, and honestly, even if I did, saying so after telling you I don't know the guy is pretty stupid."

"Agreed." There was a terse silence as Grissom seemed to ponder for a moment. "Alright, thank you." He abruptly dismissed the bouncer, and turned to Brass, "Do any of the others have anything important to add?"

Brass shook his head. "No. The only ones who had any type of interaction with our DB were those two."

Grissom frowned. "You're sure?"

Brass snorted. "I'm never sure. That's your job."

Grissom turned back to the rest of the staff. "You've been very patient, and for that we thank you. There's just one more thing we need, and that's a sample of your DNA. We need your permission to take it." He paused here, waiting to see if anyone would object.

Not that it mattered if they did, Sara mused as she crouched to open her kit and removed the swabs she would use to collect saliva. If they said no, they'd just get a warrant.

"I don't think so," Vex said, shaking his head a little wildly. "No. I-I don't have a reason to give you any DNA, I didn't do anything ... if you want it, you'll have to get a warrant."

"You just said the magic words," Brass said with a grin before pulling out his cell phone and dialing. Sara chuckled quietly. He was calling the judge to get a warrant.

While Brass was on the phone, Grissom and Sara swabbed each and every one of the remaining eight club staff before telling them they were free to go. As Brass got off the phone, he turned to Vex.

"You can go ... for now. I'll be seeing you soon." He winked at the burly bouncer as he hurried away. Brass then turned to Grissom. "So, what do you think?"

Grissom never got the chance to reply. Footsteps could be heard pounding their way into the club and then up the stairs, and suddenly Nick Stokes was standing in front of them, clearly winded. When he'd regained his breath enough to speak, he gasped, "Grissom ... found .... another body ..."

**A/N: **And so ends the first chapter in this collaborative effort. Please let us know what you think.


	2. Two

Nick lead them out to the railroad tracks, a mere 800 feet from Starr's location. When Sara saw the second body, she had started. Even Nick looked white. The words "cheating Hector" were written in the gravel bed of the railroad tracks with blood.

"Uhm, I think we found Hector." Nick commented just before he pressed the back of his hand across his mouth. "Of course, we really have no way to figure that out..."

Someone, in the style of an old silent movie villain, tied "Hector" to the railroad track. The train decimated his body, leaving parts scattered around, Grissom walked up to stand over Nick, who was going through a wallet. He met the other man's eyes for a split second before a card flitted in front of his face.

"Look's like you need to make another trip to Lady Heather's." Nick's ever present smile was gone. He offered the card again at Grissom's reluctance to take it. "I mean, unless you want me-"

Grissom snatched the card from the younger man. "Sara and I are taking this one. Just bag him-"he looked around "Call Warrick to bring out more bags..."

"Already did, we have a bet going with how many this is going to take." The smile lit his face again, while his left pant leg was stained from the knee down in blood.

Sara couldn't help but laugh at him, he was like a little brother, even though he was older then she was. "That's just sick..."

Before Nick could respond, Grissom beckoned her away.

* * *

While they were talking back in the labs, it was clear Candy Lane had left an impression on Sara, giving her agitation an outlet for the time being. She leveled her bright eyes at him when he told her the name of the woman that called Starr in as a missing person- Fox Trail, "so, are we going to talk to Suzy Highway and Quincy Road too?"

Grissom remembered smiling at her, but he didn't laugh like she seemed to want him to. "No, I think that this is the last avenue we need to cross."

That earned a blink. "You- you ah, just made a joke."

"Sometimes these things happen. Would you like to talk to Trail?"

The look crossing her face was enough to answer that for him. "Right, I'll find Trail, you talk to Lady Heather?"

At first Sara looked like she was going to say no. But then she nodded, the determined set coming to her jaw. He asked her if she had been sure and she responded curtly. Like he knew she would. Sara could do anything, the only trick to getting her to do so was telling her she couldn't.

* * *

Grissom sighed as he looked down at the address he had printed out. Sara, as he knew she would be, had been difficult to work with. He made a sound of agitation as yet again his thoughts strayed from his job to Sara. He hadn't wanted to alienate her, he really hadn't. However, he knew what stood in his way with relationships. It was one thing, simple to pinpoint and impossible to ignore.

Grissom was a scientist.

He had overanalyzed things ever since he was a boy. To his teachers it made him brilliant. To the rest of humanity it made him flawed. Sara had looked up to him, most of the staff did, he was the sure headed one, the one they ran to with issues. He was the rock of his CSI unit, even if they didn't need him all the time. This, of course, led to another problem. Where did the rock go for support when it was unsure of itself?

Lady Heather. Whenever support came up her name was the first one to pop into his head. She mystified Grissom as much as she scared him. There was something about a woman that in control of herself that was enough to make anyone suspicious of her. They had such amazing conversations, until- of course- he had remembered he was a scientist. Then, after accusing her of murder, one she was innocent of, he lost her. It had been no real secret to Brass or some of his CSIs that he had a strong friendship with Lady Heather.

The one thing he had to always screw up, relationships. He was desperately trying to salvage one with Sara now. Even though he didn't know what relationship he had with her, he didn't want to loose it.

Grissom slammed the door of his SUV shut as if he could cage his personal life in the vehicle while he worked. He felt he would need his wits about him with Ms Trail. It was her legal name, oddly enough, she had moved to Nevada in 1997 from Tennessee. Even there her name was still, Fox Trail.

The place he stood in front of was a nice enough house, an older style, snugged in close to its neighbors overlooking the busy street. The flowers in front of the building weren't indigenous to Nevada, for some reason this took him by surprise. The rolling sprays of mint and thyme added for a distinctly relaxed front, despite the noise from the street behind him. Before he knocked on the door, a sign drew his attention. "Unless you are the cops, don't knock. If you are the cops, please go away."

He laughed at the irony before pushing the door open. The house could have been cramped if messy people lived there. Down a hall, directly in front of him was a kitchen. Grissom could view the sink and the black handle of a pot sticking up from it. To his left was a stairway, across it was a rope declaring "no admittance". To his right was his destination, an obvious lobby, bookshelves dominated the room. Grissom restricted his curiosity over the volumes to passing glances before stopping in front of a door. This time there was no sign, he knocked.

The moment the door opened a woman started talking, even with her back turned to him. She was short, at Grissom's best guess she couldn't have been over five foot two, it did nothing to help the fact that she looked barely over the age of seventeen. "You caught me just before lunch, can you-"she shut the door behind her and locked it before turning to face Grissom, who already had his badge out. Her dark eyes narrowed at the item before darting up to him. "Can't you read?"

Nonplused, Grissom answered her with a question. "Are you Fox Trail?"

She sighed leaning against the door. "Do you have a warrant?"

"No, but I can get one if you really want to make me angry and we can turn this place upside down."

She glared up at him, the youthfulness fading from her face. "Your people skills are staggering, you know that?" She pushed past him, striding through the lobby. "Regardless, I am going to make my lunch; you can join me or stand there."

Grissom followed her into the kitchen, watching as she began to mix a drink. "Want a seven and seven?" She asked conversationally.

"I can't drink on the job." He responded, crossing his arms over his chest.

She began to mix one. "Exactly, have a seat."

Pursing his lips, Grissom sat down. He tilted his head at the whisky bottle. "Canadian whisky?"

She slid the drink in front of him, taking a sip of her own and digging in the fridge before answering him. "Best kind." She pulled out some meat, cheese and mayonnaise, then closed the refrigerator door with her heel. "What do you want with me officer?"

"Grissom." He supplied his name. "You called in a missing person's report on Starr Clain?"

She replaced the mayonnaise before responding. "Yes, she didn't beg me for another extension on her bill this weekend, nor did she beg for another loan." An auburn eyebrow arched up over her eyes. "You find the deadbeat?"

"Funny you should call her dead..." Grissom started, taking a sip of the drink.

"She's dead?" Fox let out a breath. She sat down in front of Grissom at the table. "Did you guys find Hector?"

"Dead too."

She took a swig of her own drink. "Great, now I'm out eight hundred bucks."

Grissom looked at the glass before leaning forward a bit. "You don't seem very upset about the fact that two people are dead."

Fox took a bite of her sandwich. "Let me be totally honest with you, there are two things I hate more then anything in this world. Sleazy men that think they know women and the stupid women who let them think that way. Now the world is short one of each, I'm not going to loose sleep over it."

"But they did owe you money." Grissom interjected.

"Yeah, but it wasn't enough to kill someone over." Fox responded, unperturbed. "What happened to them?"

"I can't really get into that, but they were left outside of the Tally Ho." Grissom responded.

"So they got dragged somewhere?" Fox swirled her glass, leaning back in the chair.

"Yes." Grissom responded, and the moment he did he realized why Fox had asked him that.

She laughed. "So you are insinuating that five-foot-one, one-hundred-pound me, dragged five-foot-nine, however much she weighed, Starr; and Hector, who I would put at over two-hundred-pounds easy, somewhere they didn't want to be?"

He sighed, finishing the drink. For some reason, talking to Fox made him feel like he needed one. "I'm following all the leads. Can you give me names of anyone else who would have a beef with them?"

"Every club in the area has someone in it with a beef for one of them." Came the flat response. "Is there anything else?"

"Do you have any names to give me?"

Finishing her own drink, Fox took both glasses and her plate to the sink; she started filling it with water. "Look, we both know my line of work has questionable clients. However, they ARE my clients; I'm not telling you anything without a warrant." She poured soap into the water and turned to face Grissom. "If this is all you wish to talk about, Grissom, you have overstayed your welcome in my house." She spun, facing the sink to wash the dishes.

"Thanks for the drink; I'll be keeping in touch." He stood up, looking at Fox's back.

Without turning around, the short woman responded amiably. "Can't say I am looking forward to it, Grissom. You can leave the same way you came in."


	3. Three

Sara had been astounded when, upon entering work the next morning, Grissom had handed her a case file and said simply, "This is your interview." Thinking perhaps he was angry, she let her own temper rise to the fore. Upon opening the case file, however, she felt her anger dissolve into astonishment.

The case file was Lady Heather's.

For long moments she stood there, staring blankly at the black and white photo of the renowned dominatrix. She was completely aware of Grissom's previous infatuation with the woman, and was also acutely aware that the infatuation was not a one way occurrence. When he'd made the announcement to her the night previous, she had simply assumed he meant she'd be going with Nick, Warrick, or Catherine. So why on earth had he given her this assignment alone…?

"Sara?"

She snapped out of her reverie, blinking into focus Grissom's bespectacled face standing several feet away. Confused, she muttered, "What?"

"We're on the clock. You should get going."

She opened her mouth to ask him what he was thinking, and why he had done this, but he turned away and hurried down the hall, clearly heading to Trace. For a moment she contemplated running after him and asking him if this was some sort of demented game, if he had done this because he knew how much it would hurt. Realization struck her then that perhaps he was oblivious, like he always was, and for some reason that pained her more than her previous suspicion. Even should she ask him, she was fairly certain he wouldn't give her an answer, at least not an honest one. And so it was with a resigned sigh that she closed the case file and headed for the parking lot.

* * *

She stood outside a house of pain.

For long minutes she lingered on the sidewalk, standing at the rear of her SUV and wishing fervently that she had been given _any_ other assignment. She wasn't entirely certain that she could face this woman, this rival, and do her job to the best of her capabilities. And with a grim, bitter smile she silently amended her thoughts: Lady Heather wasn't a rival. In order for that to be true, Grissom would have to have been involved with Sara somehow …

"Damnit." She muttered abruptly, angrily. She was a professional; nothing would stand in the way of her job. And so it was with long, determined strides that she walked up the cobblestone sidewalk and knocked on the door using the antique gargoyle knocker. Seconds passed while she waited anxiously; it wasn't long before she heard the tell-tale _tap tap_ of a woman's heels approaching the door.

It opened softly, the noise belying its heavy, ancient appearance. And quite suddenly Sara found herself face to face with an immediately intimidating woman. Her eyes encompassed every minute detail of Lady Heather, cataloguing, measuring. The dominatrix had an Amazon build; she was tall, voluptuous and darkly alluring. Hair the color of rich mahogany fell in a shining mass to grace her shoulders; a thick fringe of bang swept across her pale forehead. Piercing green eyes, lined with heavy dark liner, regarded Sara with mild curiosity from beneath elegant arched brow. Sara knew that her lips, painted a screaming shade of red, had fascinated Grissom once …

"Can I help you?" Lady Heather asked in a voice that spoke of culture and eloquence.

"I'm –"

"A CSI," The other supplied, a trace of a smile curving her crimson lips. "To what do I owe the honor of _this_ visit?"

Sara gave her own smile, trying to make it friendly, "A current investigation. I'm here to ask you a few questions."

Lady Heather's eyes flicked up and down Sara twice, giving Sara a view of some smoky, almost brown, eye-shadow. The corner of her mouth moved up slightly. "Certainly," she pushed the door open further, "Do come in."

Sara looked around the front room from where she stood in the doorway. It was cool; the air-conditioning caused a gentle circulation in the house. She could smell sex, a strong musky order that climbed up the walls. It was mixed, mingling in her nose with something like incense, perhaps oils of some kind. An array of candles burned from beneath a large mirror.

She took what she hoped was a silent, yet deep breath and berated herself for acting as though something would leap out at her. She could almost hear a low chuckle from the woman ahead of her. After pushing the door shut, Sara straightened her spine and followed Lady Heather.

It was difficult, not to look around at the people in the house. Men and woman, all in various states of undress or bondage were milling in rooms. Cigarette smoke puffed out of one room, and yet another had a strobe light flickering frantically. She could feel her cheeks get warm, and tried to concentrate on Lady Heather. A muffled set of cries and the cracking sound of something hitting flesh made Sara snap her head over the tall railing. She touched the dark wood and peered down into a pit of sorts.

"Would you like a tour?" Lady Heather's voice was all too close to her, Sara jumped around, earning another amused smile. It was a strain all of a sudden not to get irritated with the other woman. Before Sara could comment, Lady Heather led her into a surprisingly white room. The tall woman motioned to a table. "What kind of tea do you drink?"

"I … chamomile," Sara replied, taken aback at the sudden change in surroundings. This room looked as if it had been taken directly out of some 18th century manor; everything looked as if it were antique and incredibly expensive. The table and matching chairs, made of mahogany almost identical in color to Lady Heather's hair, were carved in exquisite detail.

With a graceful wave of her hand, the dominatrix gestured for Sara to sit, and feeling more and more awkward with every passing moment Sara lowered herself gingerly to occupy a chair.

"Do you take sugar or honey?" The Lady asked, pouring steaming tea into delicate china with deft hands. Sara remembered hearing once that Grissom had shared a similar experience in this very place … Shaking her head minutely, Sara murmured, "No, thank you."

The Lady set the cup and saucer down gently before Sara and took her own seat. Wanting to leave this place as soon as possible, Sara launched into her questions without preamble, "Do you know a man named Hector?"

Again Lady Heather chuckled, leaning forward and cupping her chin in her hands. "I know quite a few of them my dear." Leaning back and taking a slow sip of her own tea, she continued. "You can relax you know, no one is going to leap out from under my table and bite you."

For a moment Sara stared at the Lady, surprised that she was so easily read. Against her will, a smile slowly formed. "Alright. And I'll rephrase my question. Do you know a man named Coren Hector?"

The red corner of her mouth turned down. "Ahh, yes, I do. He hasn't been around here lately, and that is odd. He's got a thing for one of the girls here." She dipped an ice cube into the teacup, careful not to get her nails wet. "I didn't care for him myself, quite boorish." She slipped the cube into her mouth, white teeth crunching the small chip of ice. She then sipped her tea again. "Much better. He was a rather rude fellow; the girls said he made up for it with- impressive endowments. What could I help you with about him?"

"Do you know where he spent his time when he wasn't here?"

"I do not." Again she surveyed Sara. "May I ask you a question?"

"Uh ... sure, I guess."

"How is Grissom?" The question was genuine.

The question was unexpected; it took several moments for Sara to formulate a response. She stared at the Lady, gauging her emotionless face and wondering if perhaps she'd deliberately asked that question in order to make her uneasy. If that was the case, she thought grimly, the Lady was going to be unpleasantly surprised.

"He's … Grissom," she replied calmly, for that was as good an explanation as any. "Always working."

"Annoying isn't it?" Lady Heather continued. "When you just want to have a conversation…"

Sara shrugged. "It's who he is. We all have our faults."

"We do, but it is difficult, to deal with a man that keeps so much from even himself. He truly is an intelligent man, but, a man, none the less." She got up from the table, flipping the pages of a book beside her. "I can tell you that Hector has not been here for almost a week. Five days to be exact." She crossed over to stand behind Sara, sitting the book next to her teacup and pointing. Then she breathed in and smiled. "Well, you're heart is in it at least."

Sara scowled, beginning to lean very quickly towards the decision to get up, leave, and tell Grissom to do this on his own. This was fast becoming degrading. "My … _what_?"

The woman placed her hands on Sara's shoulders, making a little _tsk_ noise and then slowly rubbing her tense places. "You put on perfume. Women do not do that unless they haven't showered, or if they care about a person's perception of them. Scent is a powerful thing."

Sara felt the heat rise in her cheeks and ducked her head to hide the flush. She had put on perfume today –why, she wasn't sure. As a rule CSIs didn't wear the stuff, because it interfered with their other senses that were needed for processing a scene. But today, on a whim, she'd added just a smidgen to the pulse in her neck. She hadn't even thought it was noticeable ….

Very quickly she stood, sliding off the chair and putting several steps between herself and the Lady. "Look," she said tersely. "I'm here to ask you questions; anything else is redundant. If you prefer," she added, hoping that the Lady would agree to her next suggestion, "I can send someone else over to do the questioning."

Cocking her head, Lady Heather frowned. "Oh, and here I thought that the two of us were getting along."

Sara exhaled slowly; she couldn't do this … could she? Very deliberately she forced herself to meet the shrewd eyes of the dominatrix. "All that's required of you is to answer what I ask you. No more than that. Understood?"

Lady Heather crossed to sit back down again. "I do, perfectly." She pulled the daybook to her lap. "The two of you must be astonishing to watch. Both overanalyzing the other's action, both trying to keep the job in between you, and yet, both of you wanting so badly to open up." She marked a page. "Such a shame." Closing the book she looked up. "I can get you video, audio, and my date books that have Hector involved if you need them."

Sara's mouth hung open momentarily, until she closed it with a snap. "You know nothing about _me_," she emphasized, feeling defenseless suddenly against this woman who saw everything with perfect clarity.

Lady Heather smiled again. "I do not know you personally, but I've made it my life to know people, my dear." She took a sip of her tea. "And I doubt you would be so agitated if I didn't hit so close to home."

Sarah realized suddenly that she couldn't deny what the Lady had said; she'd summarized the situation between Grissom and Sarah perfectly without batting an eyelash. Striving to maintain her quickly deteriorating facade, Sarah said, "The videos and the date books would be greatly appreciated-"

A man's scream, echoing from somewhere within the dungeon like depths of the house, interrupted her speech. Her cheeks reddened again; feeling the heat rise Sarah ducked her head and cleared her throat. "When can I send someone to collect them?"

"I was hoping you would come get them yourself. I'd like to speak with you again." Lady Heather slid out from the chair smoothly. "You don't have to take everything as seriously as you do your job."

"I ... uh ..." Taken aback once again, Sarah fumbled through her coat pocket to find one of the cards with her number. Did she want to come back here? Not really, but at the same time part of her was intrigued by this alluring, enigmatic woman who saw her more clearly than anyone else.

Finding a card, she stepped forwards and handed it to the Lady. "Sure," she muttered finally, stepping back again. "Just - just call me when you have them ready."

Lady Heather's red tipped nails slid lightly along Sara's hand as she took the card. "I'll get right on it, dear." Her hands were warm.

Disconcerted, Sara mumbled her goodbye. The Lady smiled and there was something Cheshire about it. "I'll show you out," she said, and without another word turned and led the way back to the door.

"Thank you," Sara said upon reaching the door, and opened it quickly.

"Until next time," Lady Heather said. There was something in her tone that made Sara stop and glance back, but the door was already closed.


	4. Four

**xXx**

Grissom tapped his steering wheel with his pen. The sound muted as though he was under water. Usually it didn't last this long. He frowned waiting for his eardrums to focus. He didn't need this, not today.

Fox Trail hadn't annoyed him as much as she –irked- him. He knew the woman was hiding something. But he couldn't go on a hunch. She was also one of those people that Grissom knew was smarter than he was.

One thing could be said about above average intellects, they knew each other.

The tapping came back with a clarity that made him jump. Miss Trail was not the only reason that Grissom was so jumpy. He didn't exactly enjoy the idea of Sara talking to Lady Heather.

…the worst part of that was that he didn't know WHY it bothered him.

With a heavy sigh and ears now working, Grissom opened the door of his SUV and started back into CSI.

**xXx**

In her line of work, Sarah had learned early on that throwing herself into her work was often the only way she could banish the unpleasant, oft-times nightmarish things she encountered day to day to the far corners of her mind. Which was why, upon returning to HQ after her meeting with Lady Heather, she had gone immediately to the lab to begin sorting through the evidence accumulated. What she hadn't counted on, however, was the fact that Lady Heather was much, much harder to stop thinking about than she'd thought. Every word the woman had said was still reverberating around her skull, and it dismayed her, for rather than hating the woman as she'd originally hoped and planned to, she found her –for lack of a better word – intriguing.

Trying and failing miserably to pretend she'd been unaffected by the dominatrix, Sarah donned her labcoat and headed for the morgue, where Dr. Robbins was examining the DB's brought in from the murder scene only a couple hours ago. If anything could clear her head and make her focus entirely on the task at hand, it would be staring at the corpses of those brutally murdered, those whose killer could only be brought to justice by what she did. She had just rounded a corner and passed Trace, where she caught a glimpse of Greg with his head bent low over a microscope when a voice that reminded her how very messy her life had become called out her name.

Trying to suppress the irrational irritation that rose in her, trying to pretend she was unaffected by him, she schooled her face into an expression of pleasant disinterest and turned to face him. "Yes, Griss?"

"Glad you're here." He didn't sound it. "Brass just brought in our friend the bouncer."

Before Sara could question, Nick rolled his eyes and Warrick beamed. "Told you."

"And I bet he's overjoyed to be here," Sarah said dryly as they all began to walk as one in the direction of the interrogation room. Usually the brotherly banter put a smile on her face, but that was before Lady Heather had the gall to invade her thoughts. "What are you guys talking about?" She snapped.

Nick, predictably looked at her as though she'd hit him, big puppy dog eyes wide. Griss blinked quickly from behind his wire frames. She tried not to imagine Lady Heather looking at those blue eyes. Warrick cleared his throat then, where Grissom's eyes were blue and Nick's reminded her of a rather abused puppy, Warrick's had always been sharp, exotic, one could say. "He seems to have had quite an involved relationship."

Sarah took a deep, inaudible breath, tried to calm her nerves which were humming with irritability and apprehension, and when she spoke she gave herself points for the fact she wasn't screaming like she wanted to be. "Oh? With who?"

Warrick and Nick shared a relaxed, joking look and a laugh before Nick answered for them. "Hector."

Grissom raised an eyebrow, face moving in thought. "So… he…"

"Our Bouncer's definitely big enough to do that amount of damage." Warrick offered, it seemed as though he and Nick were ready to take the case to court and be done with it.

Sara didn't like the feeling that information gave her. She wasn't as happy as she should have been.

"So … that's it?" She asked, and though she tried she couldn't keep the sharp edge from her tone. She added quickly as all eyes fell on her, "It just seems … rather convenient that everything wraps up that quickly."

"Nick should go in and talk to him with Cat." Warrick snickered. At Nick's expression he raised a finger like a chastising older sibling. "Ahh ahh, you're the pretty one, go in there and distract."

"And why Catherine?" Grissom asked, as usual, missing the humor entirely.

"She's scary." Nick responded as though it was obvious.

Sarah had to agree on that. When it came to no nonsense hard asses, Catherine was Queen. Normally when Sarah was left out of the process of interrogation on a case she was working it irritated her, but this time she didn't really care. She wanted to watch it proceed, however, and so as Nick left in order to find Catherine, Sarah opted to head for the interrogation room anyways. Hoping Grissom would forget why he'd called her name to begin with, she made it about ten steps when he caught up with her and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"How'd it go with Lady Heather?" He asked her. With a thin, tight smile that she hoped passed as friendly, Sarah stepped back so that his hand fell away.

"It was fine. She's agreed to meet with us again if we have more questions."

It was predicable, so… so damned GRISSOM that he not react to her form of response. His hand fell naturally to his side and he did nothing to make the contact appear as something he hadn't done. "She's always been very agreeable, but she's got this way of seeing you too closely."

"Really?" Sarah said breezily, watching him closely. "I hadn't noticed."

He was silent for a moment, eyes behind his lenses intent. Then he blinked, offered her a small smile, and said, "I guess maybe it's just me."

"It must be," Sarah said. "Anyway, I want to get down to the interrogation room. I'd like to watch it all pan out. Was there anything else you needed?"

"Well, I wanted to compare notes on this case, depending on what happens with the bouncer. Maybe we should go make sure Warrick isn't enjoying himself too much. Between Cat and the bouncer…" He cracked a questioning smile, as though logically he knew that he had cracked a joke, but he was unsure as to if it was really funny.

How could he be so like a little child and such a good leader? God why was she so fixated? Despite herself, she had smiled at this attempt at humor. "Alright," she acquiesced, knowing she would regret it later. "Let's go."

**xXx**


End file.
